


Twelve Days of Naked Pictures

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Holiday!Verse [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adorable FitzSimmons, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fitz is confused, Fitz's POV, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Future Fic, Jemma is a Tease, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A FitzSimmons crack!fic in twelve parts.</p><p>'Tis the season, Jemma's feeling mischievous, and Fitz pays the price - for twelve whole days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> M-rated for lots of nudity (surprise) and mature content, but no sex.
> 
> This takes place a few days after [To Grump or Not to Grump](http://archiveofourown.org/series/181142), but the only context necessary is that it's about a year in the future & FitzSimmons are in an established relationship.

**One**  

Fitz opened the first picture in a place that was neither conducive nor appropriate to receiving such a thing.

It was a nondescript morning in the Playground, and the team was in the middle of an unofficial meeting in Coulson’s office. Having been one of the last people to enter, Jemma was leaning against the doorway, across the room from where Fitz stood. For whatever reason, she’d hung back in her bunk that morning, telling him to go on without her – and now she was fiddling with her phone rather than paying rapt attention to Coulson, as was her normal want. This uncharacteristic behavior had pinged a warning bell in Fitz’s head, although he let his guard down somewhat when his own phone buzzed as she put hers away, expecting an explanation of some sort.

Instead of an explanation, though, the text message simply contained a picture. Of Jemma. Lying on her bed, naked. Her body’s every curve silhouetted against the artificial morning light provided by the base’s faux windows.

He promptly dropped the phone in shock and watched in abject horror as it skidded halfway across the room before he could snatch it up and hurriedly click on the lock screen to prevent anyone from seeing the picture. Fitz noted belatedly that the message also contained the caption: “ _Happy first day of Christmas_.” When he straightened, the entire room was staring at him – except for Jemma, who had devolved into giggles and slipped out the door to avoid the kind of questioning he was about to receive.

“Did you have something you wanted to add, Fitz?” Coulson looked torn between amusement, concern, and the slightest amount of annoyance at being interrupted.

“No, sir,” he replied quickly, shoving the phone into his pocket.

 

**Two**

Considering that they spent most of their days working together (and had been spending most nights in each others’ rooms), Fitz didn’t know how Jemma had avoided being alone with him for over twenty-four hours, but she’d managed it just the same. The second picture arrived when he was working in the lab with a new kind of polymer molding, and he’d only pulled off one glove to tap open the new message while still holding the liquid container in his other hand. 

This picture was the same pose as the first one, but from a different angle, somehow propped up over her head. The lighting was stark, but this time her skin almost glowed under the fake sunrise, skin looking soft and warm (as he knew it was) through where the shadows creased between her thighs, legs bent up against the mattress in an achingly familiar position. Fitz let out a small “oh” and sat down – onto a nonexistent lab stool. He went crashing to the floor and the phone (yet again) went flying. This time, though, it landed face down, and he was able to gather himself and grab it without a problem.

After one of the other scientists helped him clean up the polymer mixture he’d upended over the floor, Fitz looked up to see Jemma smirking at him from one of the lab’s windows. When he met her gaze, she gave him an innocent little wave and then proceeded to engage Trip in conversation before Fitz could storm out there and demand to know what she was playing at. Clenching his jaw and mentally vowing to talk to his girlfriend _alone_ later, Fitz pulled his protective gloves back on, trying to ignore the siren song of the pictures burning a hole in his pocket.

 

**Three**

Jemma was driving him insane, and although in some ways it was exquisite torture Fitz was itching to get her to explain herself. Preferably while they were in one of their bunks without any clothes on. He was standing in the middle of a Playground hallway, having completely forgotten where he was going or what he was doing. 

Today’s picture was far more suggestive than the others, and although he’d never really thought of Jemma as having much of an artistic streak she clearly had a knack for nude photography. (Add that to the list of sentences he’d never have expected to think about her, Fitz noted dimly.) This one was a close-up of the undersides of her breasts in black and white, catching the very edge of her nipples, and he felt a large quantity of blood rush south. Whereas the other two times the initial glimpses were so brief that he’d barely had time to think about them, this time his mind wandered instantly to what he would be doing to said breasts right now if he had any say in the matter.

Of course, this was when Skye rounded the corner to ask for his help with something, and he had to adjust his jeans before he followed his friend, wondering – yet again – where the bloody hell Jemma was. Every time he’d seen her in the last few days she’d been talking to someone else or working on something, she never seemed to be in her bunk at night, and today she’d been completely absent from the lab. If Fitz weren’t so sure that she was doing this to torment him, he’d be worried. 

 

**Four**

At this point in their relationship, not being able to at least cuddle with Jemma for more than a couple days felt wrong, and now Fitz was not only simply missing his girlfriend but was also feeling supremely... tense. He’d been drinking his mid-afternoon cuppa when today’s picture had arrived, and he sighed as he stared at the long, flawless expanse of Jemma’s back on his phone screen, angled so that the camera caught just the barest curve of her breast.

Most people wouldn’t necessarily think that this was exactly a nude picture – everything racy was covered, after all. But it reminded Fitz of mornings when he’d wake before Jemma (rare as they may be) and rouse her by gently tracing patterns against her skin, fingers following the curve of her spine, the faint outline of her musculature, or (occasionally) any marks he’d left the night before. He knew how to find the most sensitive swaths of skin, too, and sliding the pads of his fingers along them often meant that she’d awaken with a gasp and pull him over her for more R-rated activities. These memories were exactly what Jemma had intended when she sent this picture, Fitz was sure of it, and he huffed in amused annoyance at his traitorous brain. Today he actually felt guilty for wishing, however briefly, that she were here with him instead of just her picture, though, because he knew very well why she wasn’t in the lab.

A mission had gone terribly wrong this morning, and Jemma was tied up in the hospital wing, doing her damnedest to save the life of a fellow agent. So for all that Fitz was acutely sexually frustrated, today he couldn’t quite dwell on it as he had been, feeling like a complete arse for thinking about something as trivial as sex when she was busy working miracles. He shook his head at himself and put his phone away, having faith that she’d be able to save anyone she set her mind to (and that, sometime soon, he’d get to talk to her). Although that still didn’t make him any less tempted to flip repeatedly through the four pictures she’d already sent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Five**  

If he hadn’t had more than his fair share of legitimate mental breakdowns in his life, Fitz would have thought that he was approaching one now. Somehow, Jemma had managed to time today’s picture precisely when he was walking out to the Bus with a few other team members for a quick survey mission. Fitz got one glimpse of his girlfriend’s hand lying teasingly between her own bare thighs and let out what was undeniably a loud whimper – drawing the attention of the half-dozen people striding alongside him. 

As he got onto the plane, it only took him a few cycles of the following kinds of thoughts to realize that if he continued to leave his problem “unresolved” he would almost surely devolve into madness sooner rather than later: _I should just get off the Bus. They don’t really need me; Trip could probably do this. Or I could run off and grab Jemma, have a quick shag, and then get_ back _on the Bus before it left. Or I could just have a fast, shameful wank in the bathroom and hope no one notices. Oh, hell, I’m losing my bloody mind._

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the whole day without getting too distracted, but he was dismayed when Jemma was nowhere to be found upon his return. Fitz did, however, receive a second part to that day’s message, which must not have sent properly before the Bus took off: “ _I hope you enjoyed today’s picture – I know I did. Happy fifth day of Christmas._ ”

 

**Six**

Having discerned that Jemma was intentionally making it impossible for him to talk to her alone, Fitz sidled up next to her during the day’s whole-base briefing. Something had occurred to him in the wee hours of the morning, and a knot of anxiety had rooted itself in his stomach so firmly that he couldn’t just wait for the answer anymore.

“Hey, Jemma,” he whispered, waiting for her slight head tilt upwards before continuing. “Are we – did I do something wrong? Between us?” Her gaze snapped up to his, lips parting in confusion before she glanced around and then tugged him to the doorway. 

“Fitz, what –” She leaned forward as she whispered to him, eyes wide as she made sure that they wouldn’t be missed for a few moments.

“I just – you’ve been avoiding me for days, and I dunno...” Fitz had rehearsed what he was going to say over and over as he got ready this morning, taking his time at doing up his shirt buttons and carefully securing his tie, but he trailed off when he saw her face soften from concern to something rather like adoration. 

Raising a hand up to his cheek, Jemma tutted quietly at him. “You are genuinely the sweetest man in existence. Fitz, if there was something wrong, why on _earth_ would I keep sending you those pictures?”

Oh. Good point. Somehow his nerves had made him overlook that kind of logical point entirely.

She glanced around briefly to make sure that the room’s attention was still focused elsewhere, and then leaned up to murmur directly into his ear, her warm breath making him shiver. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘delayed gratification?’”

Her words having wiped away all of his worries, Fitz realized that he was just rapidly nodding his head instead of actually answering her question. Somewhere in between the first nude picture Jemma had sent him six days ago and now, he had transformed into some perpetually-aroused bizarro-version of himself who was incapable of doing anything other than think about having sex with his best friend/girlfriend. As ridiculous as _that_ sounded.

Before he could answer her, she added one last instruction and then slipped away to rejoin the meeting: “Check your messages.”

Fitz fumbled his phone, completely unable to remove it from his pocket fast enough, and then let out an almost inaudible groan at today’s present. Somehow she’d used mirrors and angles to take this one, and if it wasn’t so damned distractingly sexy he’d be just flat-out impressed. Jemma was looking backwards over her shoulder at the camera, eyes half-lidded and the long, pale expanse of skin ending just below the curve of her arse. A distinct snicker made its way to his ears, but when he looked up Jemma was studiously staring in the other direction.

 

**Seven**

Two could play at this game, and although Fitz knew Jemma was attracted to him he suspected that he wouldn’t fare quite so well in the nude picture department. (The mental images alone made him cringe.) Instead, he recorded himself speaking a few choice phrases he’d discovered in bed during the most recent months of their relationship, words that – when coupled with a deepening of his natural accent – always either elicited a particularly appealing moan or pushed her over the edge entirely. (It had taken him more than a few tries to record the message in his bunk that morning, making him late to the lab; somehow he never stuttered when saying them to her face or murmuring into her ear.)

The lab was busy today, so Fitz took advantage of the fact that Jemma hadn’t had time to send her message yet to hit the button on his own little subterfuge, the recording masquerading as a voicemail thanks to a quick bit of coding. Leaning against the edge of a low desk, he watched Jemma’s pupils dilate as she listened to the message, a bright flush blooming on her cheeks in a manner of seconds. Before the thing was over, she frantically pressed the screen to end playback, her breath coming out far more shallowly than it had a few seconds ago. It was possible, of course, that this reaction was simply surprise, but... if he knew her as well as he thought he did, Fitz knew exactly what she was picturing right now.

Her eyes snapped up from the phone to dart around the room to find him, and when she did Fitz just quirked up an eyebrow. Jemma glared back – challenge met – and made a few pointed taps on her phone. Today’s picture arrived a few seconds later, and Fitz couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping open when he saw it. Somehow, she’d gotten into his bunk without him noticing – and technically this photo broke the pattern because she wasn’t completely naked. Jemma was wearing one of his old, bright plaid shirts (the ones he’d tucked away in a box right after waking up from his coma) – and nothing else. She had clearly used a timer, and was lying over his bed in a pose that practically dared him to come get her, the shirt hiding her breasts but parted just enough to reveal everything else.

When he raised his gaze again to meet hers across their lab, his mouth was completely dry and she was just standing there, smirking at him. Damn it. He was _never_ going to win this game.

 

**Eight**

The second Fitz received the eighth message, not long before midnight, he knew exactly where his girlfriend had been hiding for the past week, and he was kicking himself for not thinking of it earlier. This picture was a full-length shot of Jemma pulling her hair away from the front of her lab coat, which in itself was appealing but not new. The difference was, of course, that she had no clothes on under the coat. It fell open over her bare body, lighted skin only just visible around the shadows, and his mind fell to imagining all kinds of scenarios where she would greet him in their lab like this. (He wondered, again, what she was doing to take these pictures – filming herself doing sexy things and then screencapping the best poses? The idea seemed ridiculous, but – whatever she was doing, it sure as hell worked.)

Because the shot was so wide, though, he could see discarded clothes lying in the room behind her, from which he surmised that she had _just_ taken the picture (she’d been wearing that blouse earlier) and that she was in one of the private recovery rooms. Having made this deduction, Fitz had scrambled out of his bed and padded directly to the hospital wing. 

With no patients needing attention this week the wing was abandoned this late at night, and for that he was suddenly incredibly grateful. Phone held at his side, he cautiously approached the only room whose viewing windows had been switched to opaque and knocked at the door. “Jemma?”

When the door opened, she greeted him with a warm, amused smile, one hand planted on her pajama-clad hip. “It took you far longer to find me than I expected. I’m a little disappointed.”

He spluttered indignantly as she ushered him inside, unable to prevent his pout. “I – hey, y’know, you’re good at not being found when you want to be.” Her hand paused before turning the lock and Fitz cringed, realizing how that sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not like – you know I understand that. Now.”

Jemma fastened the lock and turned to him, a small smile not quite hiding the sadness that lurked within her eyes. “I know.”

Wanting to move back to the lighter tone she’d had when she first opened the door, Fitz gave a small huff and crossed his arms. “And if I’d figured it out earlier I would've just rushed over here and ravaged you were you were standing, anyway.” Rolling her eyes, Jemma threw her arms out to the side and gave him an exasperated look. “Oh. That was –”

“Sort of the plan, yes,” she said drily. “I mean, not right away, because embarrassing you is an inordinate amount of fun. But really, Fitz –”

Before she could finish what was surely a cutting comeback, he had closed the few steps between them and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her flush against him. She melted into his hold, allowing him to back her up against the wall as he worked one hand under the soft cotton of her tank top. A small whimper escaped her throat when he slid his tongue into her mouth and hitched her leg up alongside his hip, grinding slowly against her, and he realized that maybe Jemma had been as frustrated as him. Either way, she seemed intent on making up for it now, fingers digging into his skin as she held him tightly to her, writhing in his hold in a purposefully obscene way. They were both wearing far too many clothes, he decided, but he couldn't begin to think about separating himself from her, not when she was releasing light little pants as he dragged his lips over her collarbone.

The memory of those pictures flitted through Fitz’s head and he groaned against her skin, almost entirely overwhelmed with all of the fantasies he’d had every night this week and exceedingly eager to put more than one of them into action.


	3. Chapter 3

**Nine**

Fitz was woken up by the sound of his phone going off, but it took him a few long seconds to figure out where he was before he could grab the offending device. Someone else’s arm was curled over his bare chest, and a grin spread across his face when he saw Jemma gazing up from where she lay, sprawled nude over him in the narrow hospital bed. “Christ, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to her forehead. She just snuggled closer and hummed in agreement, letting their physical proximity do the talking.

When he saw that the message was from Jemma, he gave a small snort of laughter. “You’re really committed to this thing, aren’t you?” Clicking open the photo, however, stopped him from fully registering the grin now spread across her face as she watched his reaction. Jemma must have taken it just a few minutes prior, before he’d rolled over into awareness. The picture, shot through the swell of her breasts, was of his hand as it lay over her ribs, fingers partially covering a lovebite he’d left on her skin at some point in the wee hours of that morning. Somehow it was both erotic and achingly tender at once, him unconsciously holding her in comfortable, affectionate nakedness. Instead of teasing her again or saying something asinine, he chose to tug her up for a slow, sweet kiss. 

Blinking her eyes slowly open after breaking off the kiss, she propped her chin and hands on his chest and smiled. “Good start to the ninth day of Christmas, mm?” 

He raised an eyebrow, smoothing his hands up and down the skin of her bare back. “Y’know that the Twelve Days of Christmas are supposed to come _after_ the holiday, right? Epiphany and all –”

Jemma chuckled, the sound vibrating from her chest against his skin. “Yes, I know, but it’s far more fun as an advent calendar thing – and I only thought of it that first morning, so twelve it was, if I wanted to finish before Christmas.”

“I’m being robbed of my thirteen extra days, then,” he joked, actually rather glad she hadn’t tried to torment him for a whole month. Fitz was fairly certain he couldn’t take it.

She burst into laughter, giving his arm a light slap as she sat up. “Leave it to the Scot to complain that he isn’t getting _enough_ nudes. Maybe I won’t send you the last three.” Before he could voice the pout that had already worked its way onto his face, Jemma swore and slid out of the cramped bed. “Bloody hell, Fitz, it’s almost seven-thirty.”

“ _Shite_.” The Playground would be bustling with agents and scientists shortly – if it wasn’t already – which meant that their original plan of sneaking back to their rooms unnoticed may now be moot. Fitz joined her in the hunt for their respective clothes, tossing individual garments to each other as they found them, and tried not to regret having to stop cuddling with Jemma too much. After all, he had tomorrow’s picture to anticipate.

 

**Ten**

As he’d predicted, Jemma had vacated the med room so that he couldn’t find her there again that night, and Fitz spent the next day on tenterhooks, torn between eagerness and wariness as he waited for the next picture. At long last, it showed up when he was sitting at lunch; he’d just watched her enter the mess hall, grab a sandwich, and stride back out again, giving him a quick smile. He knew she’d been working intently on her current project and didn’t want to take the time for a full lunch; but he couldn’t figure out why she’d sent the picture now. The rest of his table had just stood up for dessert or seconds, so he was alone – maybe she’d decided to go easy on him today. Maybe she’d gotten tired of embarrassing him, a small part of him hoped. 

Unsurprisingly, Fitz was wrong. In today’s picture, Jemma was again not nude – what did you call pictures of your scantily-clad girlfriend when they weren’t _technically_ naked pictures?

“Torture,” he muttered to himself, staring at his phone screen and sucking in a shallow breath. She was wearing black lace lingerie, including thigh-high garters and stockings, her free hand propped on her hip and the room’s light just bright enough that he could see her nipples through the sheer bra. After lingering on her figure, his gaze wandered up to puzzle at the expression on her face; Jemma seemed half-shy, half-defiant, as if she’d had to work herself into taking this particular picture. For God’s sake, Fitz couldn’t _possibly_ imagine why she’d be nervous about showing him this get-up – he was half-hard just looking at it on his phone, never mind seeing it in person. And then there was the idea of peeling it off of her, piece by piece.... As he let out a small, wistful sigh, he felt someone smack him on the back of his head.

“ _Fitz_ , is that porn? You’ve got a _girlfriend_.” Skye dropped onto the bench next to him, sliding an overflowing cup of chocolate soft-serve in front of her. 

Somehow, the phone managed to fly out of Fitz’s hands and land straight in the ice cream. But luck still seemed to be with him, because in his panic he’d managed to hit the home button and the picture was no longer visible. His friend just narrowed her eyes and plucked the phone out of the cup. “You owe me the biggest cup of soft-serve you can carry.”

 

**Eleven**

Fitz was absolutely exhausted. He’d been pulled out of the lab four hours ago as emergency back-up when the away team was ambushed; with Trip’s help, he’d had to disarm an unstable weapon (not unlike the first ever 084 he’d encountered all that time ago). It was harrowing enough already, and then his hand had shaken in the middle of the operation. Luckily, he hadn’t set anything off and he’d managed to get his muscles back under control, but he was angry with himself and couldn’t stop thinking about how he could have been the cause of half a dozen agents’ deaths, as well as any innocent people in the surrounding area. Suffice it to say, he was looking forward to going to bed, and maybe admiring whatever picture Jemma had sent him while his phone was off.

The others said goodbye, leaving him by entryway to pull out his phone. If he was being honest, he was disappointed that Jemma hadn’t come to greet him; he knew she had something going with this game, but he would really like to see his girlfriend right now. Just to hold her for a few moments, at least; it wouldn’t erase his frustration, but it would help. To add to his general malaise, she seemed to have forgotten to send today’s picture – she’d been working on parsing the contents of a chemical trace sent back by the team around when he’d been called into the field, so it wasn’t surprising. In any case, he had nothing on his phone, so he sighed, shouldered his bag, and set off towards the residence hall.

The walk back to his room felt far too long, and Fitz would almost swear that his bag kept getting heavier. So when he opened the door to his bunk and saw Jemma curled up in her pajamas on his bed, he suddenly felt so light that he could practically float away. She untangled herself immediately from the sheets, strode over, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Fitz buried his face in her hair and held her tightly, ignoring the way his protective gear cut into his shoulders. Simply being near Jemma always made him feel better, and having her in his arms like this was about as close to absolute peacefulness as he could get. 

“My hand shook,” he muttered into her hair. Fitz reluctantly let her pull back so she could see his face, using one hand to angle his gaze towards hers.

“But you saved them.” Jemma stretched onto her tiptoes to press her forehead against his, maintaining eye contact. “You did it anyway. You’re the h–”

“Don’t say it, Jemma, please. Not now.” Closing his eyes briefly, he gave her hand a quick squeeze before stepping back so that he could strip off his gear and change into his pajamas. She let him move away but watched him carefully, hands held stiffly at her sides, as she often did when she had something else to say but wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

“I don’t need to say it for it to be true, you know,” she said quietly, palms shifting outwards. He wasn’t sure he believed her, not exactly, but her words made warmth spread through his chest. 

Once he was dressed, she pulled him onto the bed and curled around him, seeming to know instinctively that just being in the same room with her was all he needed right now. When she whispered into his neck, he almost didn’t hear it, the warmth of her breath on his skin almost more of a clue than the actual sound. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Fitz pressed the cold tip of his nose to the crown of her head and exhaled, letting his eyes slip closed. “Me, too.”

 

 **Twelve**  

Tonight was Christmas Eve, and Fitz wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He hadn’t seen Jemma since this morning, and she wasn’t working in their lab. Activity around the Playground had slowed to a crawl (Coulson, shockingly, had given everyone thirty whole hours off for the holiday), so there weren’t _that_ many places where she could be, unless she’d left the base. Just before dinnertime, he finally received today’s message – but no picture. “ _Happy twelfth day of Christmas. Meet me on the roof._ ”

When he finally found the right staircase and climbed to the generally forbidden rooftop, he shivered, relieved to see a shimmering, blue forcefield surrounding a blurry image of Jemma and a picnic blanket. She let it down just long enough for him to step over the threshold before closing it off again, preserving the warmth from the portable heater she’d brought.

“I almost thought you’d lost it when you said to meet up here,” Fitz teased, pulling off his winter coat. “It’s literally bloody freezing.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, and pulled him down next to her on the blanket. Her dress was a deep, forest green that glimmered against her pale skin and in the electric lanterns surrounding them, and he almost forgot to listen to her response while he took a moment to appreciate just how gorgeous she was. Not just sexy, or attractive, or, but simply stunning. Nothing ever really compared to when she outshone someone in the lab – but after all these years, he was more used to her doing that. This was a side of her that still felt very new, and he wanted to make sure he remembered it.

“You underestimate me again,” Jemma chided, weaving her fingers between his.

“Never.” Fitz pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, which earned him the smile he’d been seeking. “So, what’s so special about the twelfth day of Christmas? No present?”

Laughing, she lightly swatted his arm. “I’ve really spoiled you too much. You’ll want nudes for every holiday, now.”

“There’s always the monkey option,” he started, but she made to swipe at him again and he chuckled, capturing her hand. “But I’ll never say no to naked pictures of my impossibly attractive girlfriend.”

Jemma allowed him a quick kiss and then sucked in what seemed like a nervous breath. “That’s actually why I brought you up here. What I wanted to talk about.” Fitz felt all the color drain out of his face; she couldn’t possibly have done all this as a precursor to breaking up with him, she just couldn’t. Reading his panic, she wrinkled her nose and shook her head vehemently. “It’s not a bad thing, Fitz, I promise.”

“Oh,” he exhaled, automatically pressing his hand to his chest. “Don’t bloody scare me like that. ‘Wanted to talk about,’ honestly – have you _never_ seen films or television?”

She laughed and gripped his hand a little more firmly. “Sorry, sorry. I just –” Jemma took a deep breath and lowered her eyes, her nerves plain. “I have something I want to say, and I’ve been trying to work up to it for some time.” When she met his eyes, Fitz just gave her an encouraging smile, nodding that she should continue even though he was completely perplexed. 

A few moments passed, and then Jemma let out her words in a rush, as if she was reciting something from memory. “I think it’s time that I tell you that I am very much in love with you, and you don’t have to say it back, but I needed to tell you. This twelve days thing honestly started as a joke, but I was thinking about it the other night and I realized that I could never imagine feeling comfortable sending anyone else these pictures, that I’m quite certain you’re the only person I would ever trust enough in the whole world to keep them safe. To keep me safe, in that way. And I thought it was a good example of how much I love and trust you that I would never need to think about asking you to keep them private, because of course you would. Because you’re Fitz. So I wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you. And that’s the twelfth day of Christmas.” 

She sucked in a large gulp of air, having somehow managed to say almost all of that in one breath, and then stared up at him with her intoxicating, honey-colored eyes. Fitz had felt his brain grind to a halt at the first sentence, and although he knew he should focus on the rest at some point he couldn’t do it now, joy suddenly thrumming through his veins.

“You’re in love – with me.”

Jemma gave him a small smile. “Crept up on me somehow.”

His arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders almost of their own accord, and he pulled her as close as possible from their awkward sitting positions. “ _God_ ,” he murmured into her hair, “I love you so much.” Then he realized that he should probably be looking at her when he said something like that for the first time, so he pulled back. “I’m so _in_ love with you. Always have been, probably, even if I didn’t know it for ages –”

“Cheers,” she interrupted wryly, and they took a moment to smile at past stupidities and misunderstandings and so much more waiting than had ever been necessary.

Fitz raised one hand to cup her cheek, just drinking in her presence and thinking that this was an excellent way to start their very short holiday. “That was the perfect twelfth day of Christmas present,” he said, grinning. Jemma tilted her head to the side, and the expression on her face lost some of its peacefulness – and gained something rather like mischief. 

“Oh, well, then I don’t need to bother with part two. Part three, really, if you’re counting the picnic dinner.”

He’d be lying if he said his pulse didn’t speed up at that. “What – ah, what’s part three?”

Raising an eyebrow, she slid a few inches closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear as she spoke. “It’s not exactly a nude picture, but I am wearing this dress. And that’s _all_ I’m wearing.”

Fitz let out a low groan and pulled Jemma into his lap for a long, heated kiss, hoping against hope that the rooftop door had locked automatically. Tonight was Christmas Eve, after all, and they didn’t have anything to do tomorrow – other than be together. 

 

**_The End_ **


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you noted that we missed out on a couple pictures at the end of the fic, so... here's an extra one. ;-)

**Twelve (give or take a couple hours)**

Skye poked her head into the garage, where Mack was carefully fiddling with his miniature Lola. “Hey, did you see where FitzSimmons went?” 

His tongue was stuck between his teeth as he did something delicate with one of the wheels; it looked like he was going to try to make the thing fly after a year’s work of cajoling hadn’t made any headway with Coulson. After a moment’s distraction, he exhaled and looked up. “Uh, yeah, actually. Turbo was on his way to the roof a few hours ago.” 

“Awesome,” Skye said, smiling. “Trip and I are ordering Thai, you in?”

“Red curry, extra spicy, brown rice.”

“Got it.” She gave him a joke salute, and he grinned back briefly before fixating once again on the tiny red car.

Whistling “Little Drummer Boy” as she went, Skye traipsed off to the annoyingly-obscure roof entrance, hoping that her best friends had finished their romantic shenanigans so she could convince them to marathon Christmas movies with her and Trip for the next ten hours or so. (Who slept the night before Christmas anyway, right?)

The roof door was unlatched, so she stepped through, amused to see that they’d commandeered SHIELD camping tech to keep their date warm, although the slight blue sheen and the outdoor darkness made it difficult to see through the force field. As she pulled her sweater tighter against the cold, she glanced around to find something to prop the door open – she didn’t want to risk getting locked out. 

“Oh _God_ , Jemma...”

Skye froze, her eyes widening as she realized she’d _never_ heard her friend’s Scottish accent sound like that before. 

“Fitz, _yes_ , just t- _there!_ ” 

Before her brain could catch up, Skye turned around and realized that her new angle meant that now she could clearly see Simmons straddling Fitz’s lap through the force field, moving – oh, _hell_ no. 

Stifling a swear, she backed rapidly into the stairwell and slammed the door behind her, skittering down half a dozen steps and then pausing to catch her bearings. She rubbed her knuckles firmly into her eyes, letting out a whiny “ _eeeuuugh_ ” that echoed into the silence. After a moment, she made the almost-amused realization that since she’d never had any parents to walk in on, this was the next worst thing. And, frankly, probably inevitable, at the rate those two kept finding new places to fool around. She allowed herself one more horrified full-body shake before going down a few more steps, pausing, and then running back up to flip the indoor-to-out lock (and making sure that the door still opened from the roof in). They could thank her later.

As she made her way back to the rec room, she decided to turn her and Trip’s Christmas movie marathon into a drinking game. That was one picture Skye _definitely_ didn’t want to remember in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting about one excerpt a day on my tumblr, and then collecting it all here.


End file.
